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August 23, 2005
I should have asked her out. My brother and I went to see Branford Marsalis at the Village Vanguard. There was a fierce blizzard, over a foot of snow, and the city was effectively shut down. A fat white blanket lay over everything, thickening by the minute. Cabs slid down Seventh Ave, got stuck on turns, occasionally performed amazing displays of vehicular ballet. As usual, my penchant for wearing inappropriate footwear was creating tightly packed ice rings around my ankles, where the snow oozed into the mouths of my shoes. One day, I'll buy boots. We got there early and she was already waiting by the red door with a small throng of other early arrivals. She was blonde, wearing glasses, and she was pretty. She had big woolen mittens and a thick scarf wrapped around her neck. Her breath floated in the air like gray smoke, like everybody's, but hers seemed sexier. There was a guy there. Kurt, or Kevin, something like that. He was a music student from Quebec, and he took every opportunity to tell anyone and everyone who would listen. He had a head like a pumpkin and big fat cheeks that made me wonder if he was storing nuts for the winter. Kurt or Kevin was talking to an older couple from Pennsylvania, criticizing the older man's attempt to practice his clarinet with sheet music, because true musicians only learn by ear. The couple from Pennsylvania, awed by what was obviously a young musical genius from Maple and Moose Country, did not tell him to fuck off, assuming he must know best. I wanted to tell Kurt of Kevin to fuck off for them, but I also didn't want to be denied access to the show. I was temporarily distracted by some old heroin addict selling me his recently remixed CD of him playing drums in 1973. He wanted twenty dollars for it. He explained the arrangement: there would be 16 bars in 4/4; eight bars in 2/8; another sixteen in 2/4...something like that. Most of it went over my head. I was fascinated by his mouth, and the lack of teeth in it. Spit pooled in incredible amounts on his lower lip. I was surprised that it didn't freeze in the cold weather. I think it was my admiration for the fact that one could accumulate so much spit and not spray any of it on someone while talking was the real reason I gave him twenty bucks. The CD was just a happy bonus. I still haven't listened to it. At some point, the older couple assumed Kurt or Kevin and the blonde with the mittens were together and started talking to both of them. She didn't say much, but when she did, I heard it. She went to school in Purchase, which was a school I almost got into. How different my life would be. She played sax. That was like a perfumed dagger in my heart. She liked Joshua Redman and Cannonball Adderley. My mouth went dry. I wondered if she could see fat little hearts floating over my head cartoon-style. But Kurt or Kevin was standing right there, muscling in, talking all the time. I wasn't close, but I was sure he was spraying spit everywhere. His voice was annoying, he was too close to her, he was obnoxious and opinionated and I prayed for a cab to hit an icy patch, hop the curb, and pin him to the wall. The far wall, though, not blocking the door at all, because I still wanted to see the show. The blonde and I made eye contact. Very brief, tense, quick eye contact. It caused my inner cowardice to swell and shiver. What was I suppose to do? Something in the Kurt or Kevin style? Sidle up and say howdy, what's your sign? I almost went to Purchase. I love sax. I like Redman and Adderley, too. I play guitar. I wrote a book. I'm recently divorced. I'm recently unemployed. I have no friends anymore and I sleep on a sofa. I have melting ice in my shoes and my socks are really going to start to stink when we get into the club. I couldn't do anything but quickly look down at the heroin junkie's album and pretend to read the liner notes. There weren't any liner notes, so it didn't take long. By the time I looked up, they were letting us in. Even Branford hated Kurt or Kevin. I think the little fat faced bastard had been hanging out there all week, probably pestering the band, so Branford made sure to make a few snide comments about him. That didn't mean Kurt or Kevin hadn't somehow managed to wrangle a seat next to the blonde. Me? I was sitting next to my brother. Yet another lost opportunity in a long line of lost opportunities. Branford was awesome, though.
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